


The Morning After

by voodoochild



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: M/M, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-22
Updated: 2010-03-22
Packaged: 2017-10-08 05:17:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/73091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voodoochild/pseuds/voodoochild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Tyler is never drinking a Party Seven again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Yuletide 2006.

Note to self: Am never drinking a Party Seven again. No matter how much Gene offers to bet me.

I actually thought the guys might finally stop taking pops at me after my `gay boy science' helped us beat Litton and his goons. Thought getting absolutely pissed with Ray, Chris, and the Gene-Genie himself might actually stop the jibes and resentment.

I, Sam Tyler, am obviously an idiot.

"DI Tyler? Good God, thought you'd be pulling a sickie today," Chris says, buzzing around like he didn't just spend the last night puking in the canal and trying to look up Annie's skirt.

Ah, for the stamina of youth, I think, as the tiny brass band strikes up inside my skull again.

"You having us on, Skelton?" Carling yells, looking to see whether I`m a figment of Chris`s imagination. Oh, if only. "Princess here went ten bells with us and the Guv and lived to tell the tale?"

I manage a smile, even though my head feels like a truck hit it. "Afraid so, Ray."

Chris laughs, that trademark horse's-bray of his bouncing off the concrete walls and completely failing to irritate me as it usually does. This morning, it's actually sort of nice to hear; makes me feel like part of the team. Bloody buggering fuck, have I been here too long, or what?

And of course, this is when the Guv decides to make his grand entrance, clapping a hand around my neck.

"Bravo, Sammy-boy! Pie-eyed not six hours ago and still on time for work." He looks back at Ray and Chris. "You wankers could take a hint from him."

Ray protests. "Oi, Guv! I was on time this morning."

"And my auntie's new name is Mortimer. You haven't been on time after drinking a Party Seven since Litton's last bubble bath."

He starts walking, and we all follow him through the station, Chris immediately tripping over a dustbin. Gene starts on the latest case to cross our desks, and takes the time to light the first fag of the day. And Ray? Well, he's busy glaring at me. And here I thought he'd finally gotten the stick out of his jacksie.

Oh, God, I'm even starting to think like Gene. Bollocks.

"Chris, Sammy, I want everything we`ve got on this one. Files, dossiers, previous reports, picture books, anything. If Edington and his mates got pinched in the second grade for stealing bubble gum, I want to know about it!" Gene bellows, heading for his office.

I follow Chris out the double doors, intending to head for the file room. Maybe Annie's got something in her medical reports I can-

What the hell?

Chris has just diverted me into one of the empty interrogation cells - reeking of Phyllis' lemon cleaner - and pinned me to the door. I can feel one of those impossibly long legs of his winding its way around my hip, and no, I am not going to acknowledge the growing effect it's having on me. Probably get a black eye in this decade if anyone found out I bat for both teams, `stead of the general approval I got back in my own time.

"Knock it off, Chris," I growl, trying to throw him off, but he's a tenacious little bugger. Wouldn't have thought the kid had it in him.

I stop cold as Chris seals his mouth to the bend of my neck. That jointure between throat and collarbone that, when properly licked and bitten, causes me to shriek like a little girl. And it seems Chris has figured out as much, as I let out a strangled moan.

"Still want me to knock it off, Sam?"

I manage to free one hand, which I wind in Chris's hair and tug him upward to look him in the eyes. "Since when have I been Sam to you?"

He rolls his eyes. "Since you sucked my brains out through my prick last night. Or did you forget about that?"

Son of a - I must have been a lot more drunk than I thought. And since I'm fairly sure I got completely pissed last night, that's not a good sign.

"Chris, look, I'm sorry. I was really-"

"Yeah, you were," he says, refusing to let me explain. But then he tilts his head, shaggy brown hair flopping into his eyes. Makes him look all manner of indecent. "But so was I. And since all I can remember is you sucking my brains out through my prick, I thought I'd return the favor. Sober."

Before I can object - tell him no, he really doesn't have to prove anything to me - he's on his knees in front of me, fingers flying as he unsnaps my jeans. My head falls back to thud softly against the steel door, half at the feel of his warm hands on my cock, half in resignation. I jump at the first swipe of tongue, eyes snapping down to watch Chris. Boy's fucking beautiful - shirt unbuttoned, tie slackened, and button-bright eyes rolled up to look at me in return.

And then? It's sort of a haze, but I'm pretty sure Chris held up his end of the proposition.


End file.
